Or the eighteenth century, especially suitable for those concerned with intellectual values and freedom of thought; it’s recommended for so-called free-thinkers and eggheads. Or, if you please, take a look at the sixth century A.D.; of course, the Huns were raising hell at the time, but it was quite possible to hide out deep in the forests: an idyllic life, plenty of fresh air, fishing and other outdoor sports. Or what’s called the era of the persecution of Christians, a very civilized age, comparatively: cozy catacombs, with substantial religious and other kinds of tolerance otherwise, no labor camps or the like . . .

Anyway, I’d be surprised if he or any other twentieth-century man didn’t pick another age, one where he could live more freely and humanely, and I’d be surprised if he didn’t say to me: Sir, if you can give me some sort of discount, I’d prefer to move at least as far back as the Stone Age. But I’d say: Sorry, our prices are fixed; furthermore, kindly take a look at our bookings for relocation to prehistoric times. As you can see, we’re moving our valued clients there wholesale — in fact, we’ve had to set a limit of twelve pounds of luggage per customer; otherwise, I’m afraid, we couldn’t accommodate the demand. The earliest opening we have on a shipment leaving for the Stone Age is the thirteenth of March, next year; if you wish, we can reserve a place for you now.

So what I think, friend, is that it’s going to be a booming business. I could start it up at once, with maybe thirty vans plus half-a-dozen motor coaches for transporting large groups of people. The only thing missing now are vans that can travel through time, but somebody will come along and invent them — and I can tell you this: by today or tomorrow, if I say so myself, it’ll be one of the necessities of life in our civilized world!

October 25, 1936

APOCRYPHAL TALES

The Punishment of Prometheus

With much coughing and groaning, after lengthy evidentiary proceedings, the members of the Senate’s special tribunal withdrew to confer in the shade of a sacred olive grove.

“Well, gentlemen,” Hypometheus, the Senate president, yawned, “that dragged on for a damnably long time! I hardly think I need offer a summation, but so as to preclude any formal objections — — — The defendant, Prometheus, citizen and resident, having been called before this tribunal on a charge of inventing fire and thereby, in one way or another — hhm, hhm — violating existing regulations, the defendant, then, has confessed that: firstly, he did indeed invent fire; further, that he is in a position to, whenever he pleases, undertake this very same activity which we know as striking stones together; thirdly, that he neither concealed this mystery — this shocking, unprecedented discovery — nor reported it to the appropriate authorities, but willfully divulged it, in fact handed it over for use by unauthorized persons, as was affirmed by the testimony of the individuals whom we have just now questioned. I think that this will suffice and that we can proceed at once to a vote on his guilt and his sentencing.”

“With all due respect, Mr. President,” objected associate justice Apometheus, “I should think that, considering the grave importance of the matter before this special tribunal, it would surely be more fitting if we proceeded to pass sentence after thorough deliberation and — I would even say — debate.”

“As you wish, gentlemen,” the easy-going Hypometheus pleasantly assented. “The case is perfectly clear, but if any of you wishes to comment, please do so.”

“I would venture to point out,” assistant justice Ametheus spoke up, coughing primly, “that in my opinion one aspect in particular of this entire affair should be emphasized. What I have in mind, gentlemen, is the religious aspect. Be so kind as to tell me, what is this fire? What is this bringing forth of sparks? As Prometheus himself admits, it is nothing other than lightning, and lightning, as we all know, is a manifestation of the supreme power of Zeus the Thunderer. Be so kind as to explain to me, gentlemen, how such a one as Prometheus gained access to this divine fire? By what right did he take possession of it? Where, and how, precisely, did he come by it? Prometheus has tried to persuade us that he simply invented it; but that is a preposterous tale — if it were as innocent as all that, why would not one of us, for instance, have invented fire? It is my conviction, gentlemen, that Prometheus simply stole this fire from our gods. His denials and evasions do not deceive us. I would describe his offense as common theft, on the one hand, and as the crime of blasphemy and sacrilege, on the other. We are here to punish with the utmost severity this impious arrogance and to protect the sacred property of our nation’s gods. That is all I wished to say,” Ametheus concluded, and he blew his nose vigorously on the corner of his chlamys.

“Well spoken,” offered Hypometheus. “Does anyone else wish to comment?”

“I beg your indulgence,” said Apometheus, “but I cannot agree with the arguments of my esteemed colleague. I have seen how the said Prometheus sparked this fire; and I tell you frankly, gentlemen, that — between ourselves — there is absolutely nothing to it. To discover fire, why, any idler, layabout, or goatherd could do that; the only reason we didn’t stumble across it ourselves is that a respectable, sober-minded adult, needless to say, has neither the time nor the inclination to play around with striking little stones together. I can assure my colleague Ametheus that there are quite ordinary natural forces which it is beneath the dignity of a thinking man, much less a god, to concern himself with. In my opinion, fire is too trivial a phenomenon to have a bearing in any way upon matters which are sacred to us all. But the case has yet another aspect to which I must direct the attention of my worthy colleagues. It appears that fire is a very dangerous element, even injurious. You have heard a succession of witnesses testify that, in experimenting with Prometheus’s mischievous invention, they suffered serious burns and even, in some instances, I might add, property damage. Gentlemen, if by virtue of Prometheus’s offense the use of fire becomes widespread, which, unfortunately, it no longer seems possible to prevent, neither our lives nor indeed our property will be safe; and that, gentlemen, may well mean the end of all civilization. The slightest carelessness will suffice — and what is there to stop this disturbing element? Prometheus, gentlemen, has committed an act of criminal irresponsibility by ushering so harmful a thing into the world.